Orc Tyrant

The boy slowly got up from the ruins, naked except for the ashes and mud on his pale skin. He looked at the sunless sky as dark as the void, at his ruined steel cradle, and steam from the cracks in the broken metal tube. Gushing out makes the sight blurred.

His pale face didn't show any emotions, he just looked calmly at the horizon.

A city, a city full of tall towers and chimneys, the dim dim light from the streets still shines on the surrounding night like a lighthouse.

The boy's first reaction was to feel incredible, and then he was excited. His eyes were straight and his heartbeat accelerated. He instinctively realized that he could find his kind in the bright city in the distance. This thought made him stretch out his hand. Finding a weapon, white fingers grabbed a piece of metal fragments, the surface is cold.

The touch of the blade in his hand gave the boy a second expression on his young and unscathed face.

He smiled...

Gunshots continued in the dim alley.

No matter how hard they tried, they would never be able to catch him. The boy was a vague stain on the black screen, a shadow from the street. When he ran, his worn-out shoes barely touched the ground.

Gunfire chased him, bullets buzzed in his ears like bugs, he grinned harder and ran faster.

Crossing the corner and entering the alley, he jumped on the dirty drain, the boy put his pale hands in his pockets, covered his face with dirty black hair and held his breath.

He waited, turned into a unique shadow, and stopped all actions.

Those who chased him cautiously moved forward as a team, their tone was like a poisonous pond, and their skin exuded the smell of other people's blood.

Some moved to the left and some to the right, but everyone ran towards the puddle that turned the alley into a swamp.

The boys tried not to laugh, their footprints in the mud made tracking these people the easiest thing in the world.

One of them stayed in the alley. According to his heavy breathing and hurricane heartbeat, the boy knew without looking that the man's fat and bloated body had caused him to be left behind by those sad accomplices.

The boy opened his eyes and moved his feet away from the shadow. He let the blade in his hand reflect the light of the street lamp beside him.

The man turned his head and saw the scrawny boy's face with a grinning smile.

His screams drew back to his comrades. The fastest of them took less than twenty seconds to rush back to the alley. When they arrived, the boy was nowhere to be seen, and the one belonged to their group. The obese man lying on the drain pipe soaked with warm blood, all his fingers were cut off and his face was peeled to see the bone.

He is hungry.

He knew that he could rob the dead and take the coins and banknotes from them to buy some food. He also knew that he could simply steal the food from the street vendors, the fruits and the warm bread. He was very quick and absolute. Will not be caught.

The boy's stomach was cramping, he was already curled up into a ball, roaring his thirst for food, the last time he felt so hungry, he drank his own blood, which eased the pain slightly, but only made him weaker.

Rats are not enough for him. He needs more. He caught one a few hours ago, but he needs to use rats as bait for traps. He exhausted his whole body strength to resist the miserable rat generation. The temptation of not leaving behind.

Finally, a group of three wild dogs appeared, each of which was more nasty and dirty than the previous one.

They roared and scuffled in the alleyway, fighting for the dead mouse bait that the boy had placed in the clearing.

His teeth trembled, his tongue was covered with warm saliva, and the boy picked up the knife and ran.

The next moment, a dark shadow covered him.

All this is under his watch.

He looked at the city under his feet, curled up on the edge of the eaves, hunched over and disguised himself as the ugly and weird statue aside.

His black cloak was so thin that he didn't seem to have any hope of resisting the severe cold. Behind the mask was a pair of pure black mothers like jewels, without a trace of variegation.

The territory below belongs to the men and women with red teardrop tattoos on their faces. People usually avoid their territory, but tonight, screams draw him closer.

He warned them more than once. He warned them of the price they would pay if they dare to step into the bright place in this city.

But they came anyway, ganging up to take pleasure in killing people in neighboring communities and abducting women.

No, I can't bear it anymore.

The indifferent man jumped off the roof and moved down the stone wall with one hand. His boots fell to the ground with a ghostly pace, to understand why his warning was ignored. .

They left the guard in the abandoned factory marking the edge of the territory. He jumped from the broken ceiling and came to the first person-a man with a dirty hound.

The sentry turned and raised the gun, but the man interrupted his hand from the elbow and pierced his dirty palm with a glass dagger.

The dog growled and backed away, showing sharp teeth but not willing to fight. The man looked at it, his eyes squinting and showing his sharp teeth.

The hound screamed and ran away.

Before the mysterious man left, he knocked the sentry unconscious and tied it to the iron fence.

Perhaps it would be better to place warning signs in the territory of the gang. He will leave ten or even twenty of them this time.

If it doesn't work this time, he will keep forty next time.

The sound of confession was like the sound of nature to him, the gunshot was like laughter, and the sorrow and pain were the poetry and chorus of his life.

This is not because he enjoys these very much, but in this city, these are the only sounds he can hear. These sounds are like breast milk that nourished him when he was young, just like the howls of the decaying city. He grows into a human being, and then becomes something above human.

They recorded him in words, he didn't care very much, but he still observed from the words of the newspaper.

A vengeful soul, they call him that.

The cruel echo from the impossible era, sneaking in the city, a night street knight from the old age, they first gave him a name, so that their fear has a name, and soon the name became a curse --black Knight.

He sneaked past the church, through the hall where the Kaimon statue was enshrined, and silently lurked on the curved dome.

Away from any place where the light can shine, the bishop occupies this sanctuary deceived from the hands of believers.

He squeezed money, freedom and blood from them. He took their young children and controlled their lives in exchange for the ambiguous protection under his name.

Protection for those overlords and queens who dominate the streets and alleys, and those who will do the same with him.

Human beings are so fragile that this man feels sad. They don't seem to be any different from the wild dogs that guard their home. Except for their physical differences, they are also beaten and dressed in the same restraints.

Many of them were given digital tattoos on their shoulders by factory owners, oppressed to become legal slaves, or simply wandered in groups on the street, relying on coercion and violence to seize whatever they wanted.